A Few Days in a Canyon 8
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Continuing our series of short stories, Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle continue to develop a trusting relationship--this time with a hike into a canyon to visit a very special place. A bit of angst not much , more fun, rated M just in case! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_We own nothing except a Pat O'Brians glass filled with Mardi Gras beads and the dirt on our feet! These lovely characters, Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom, belong to CSI and CBS. All the rest, we make up as fiction. _

**A Few Days in a Canyon**

Sara asked for a week of vacation. She had never taken off more than four days at one time. Grissom wanted her to fly to Las Vegas because he had planned a trip—a surprise trip, telling her what to pack, saying she would love the place she was going.

His last words had been "Wear a hat."

She wasn't scared but apprehensive. She had studied a map trying to figure out where he could be taking her. He said they would drive and hike. She wore her hiking boots. She wore a hat and had packed a swim suit.

On her first vacation day, she drove to the farm to check on her mother, finding the world left this isolated bubble much the same from day to day. The women welcomed her return as if she had gone for bread and milk a few hours earlier. Sara ate lunch, talked to Sister Deborah, and followed her mother around the garden.

Laura did not talk much; years of institutional life had reduced conversations to a few words, and she continued to find it difficult to talk with others, even her daughter. Sara, who usually had no problem talking quickly found her words running out. So instead of talking, they walked. Sara asked questions about growing vegetables, about flowers, about the animals on the farm. Her mother provided short answers, attempting to ask Sara about her work, about her Las Vegas friend. Her mother had never approved of her daughter's chosen work, but had learned to accept it as she had learned to accept other changes in life—saying few words to reject or to support such things.

She got on a cheap midnight flight to Las Vegas filled with gamblers who would stay for twenty four hours before returning to San Francisco with less money and full bellies from cheap buffets. She was sure she was the only one leaving for a three day hike to some unknown designation in the desert where she would need a swim suit. She tilted the seat back and was asleep before beverages were passed.

Grissom met her at luggage pick-up even though she had no luggage except for the bag she carried on. Three days hiking did not translate too many changes of clothes. He was smiling and practically dancing when she arrived, dressed for an adventure and wearing a hat.

"I've got a rental car." He grabbed her bag. "I didn't want to leave mine where we are going!" As before he had curb parked, leaving some type of official business card in the window.

Before leaving town, he pulled through a local restaurant for early morning food, buying more than the two could eat. "It is four hours to our first destination, depending on traffic, might be longer. There's a cooler in the back seat with more food—I know how you like to eat." He had yet to tell her where they were heading.

"I want to be almost there before I tell you," he explained. "It really is one of the best kept secrets in the country. You will not believe what you see."

They drove east. She ate her meal, passing food to Grissom as he drove.

"Can I guess where we're going?" She asked.

"Sure. Doesn't mean I'll tell you!" He drove the small car with one hand, reaching for a map. "Here's a map. Lots of places to see—and it is not Lake Mead."

She guessed the obvious—Grand Canyon. "But why the swimsuit?" She knew the Colorado River, but had never heard of anyone actually swimming in it. Her finger found no other obvious water. They crossed Hoover Dam, driving slowly with early morning traffic so she could see the deep canyon and the dam. He pointed out public restrooms built on the bridge in an art deco design.

He left the main highway an hour later saying they were making good time. Her finger found the road. "I've never heard of this—Havasu Canyon? Supai?" She squinted as she held the map closer. "Is this an Indian Reservation?" She giggled. "Unless you tell me, I'll sleep in another room!" It was blackmail and his quiet laughter made her lean to kiss him. "See what you will be missing."

"Did I say we were sleeping in a room?" Before her open mouth could answer, he continued. "Kidding, we have a room. It is a long hike in. Mostly downhill, and once there—you have to see it to believe it's there."

They stopped one more time to eat; Grissom was determined to keep her well fed and showed her the small backpack filled with high calorie snacks. A short while later, they left the car in a large parking lot and shouldered back packs for an eight mile hike through red rock canyons and massive limestone cliffs to the well hidden village of Supai, home to the Havasupai Indians.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 2**

This was a new experience to Sara; Grissom had made the trip several times, enough to know where the half-way mark was, enough to know that he nor Sara wanted to rent a mule or horse for the trip. He cautioned her about the animals before they saw them—animals that did not look happy, covered with dust and supplies for villagers and visitors who insisted on taking more than they needed into the canyon.

Grissom talked about these travelers as they walked, meeting some who had overloaded themselves with huge packs, others who carried less than they did, a few with children bouncing behind or in front of parents. He traveled lighter than Sara but carried the pack with food along with his larger one with clothing. The trail switch backed along a narrow dry and dusty ledge. Sara asked about finding water so often that it became a joke with every turn of the trail.

"Are we there yet?" was immediately followed by "Where's the water?"

They laughed as much as they talked; Sara asked questions and he answered ranging from work and forensics to the area they were visiting. He knew much more than casual history of the reservation and the small village they would be staying in.

"Nothing fancy, but you will be surprised—compared to the south rim, this place has few visitors. Maybe twenty thousand a year come here. The lodge is very basic." With his description, he lifted an eyebrow and smiled at her. "You will have to stay with me—there are only twenty or so rooms."

They were in the shadows of a red rock gorge when she backed him against the sheer wall and kissed him, teasing his mouth open with her tongue, creating a deep rumble of laughter in his chest.

When she finally let him breathe, he grabbed her hand. "We need to get to that lodge." And as difficult as it was to walk side by side, they managed to do so until a string of horses appeared coming up the trail.

The path leveled as stone cliffs rose above their heads. "This is like a secret passage," Sara said as quietness descended. "Like an Indiana Jones movie."

"Just wait."

Almost as quickly, they walked into a clearing that spread out on the canyon floor framed on three sides by towering walls. A clear narrow river tumbled along side their path. Cottonwood trees, ferns, and grapevines filled the open area with greenery that seemed out of place after their desert trek. Brown wooden houses and buildings dotted the area with fields of corn, squash, and melons planted between buildings. Horses, mules, a few cows stood behind fences. Sara felt as if she had stepped into a time warp.

They easily found the lodge after buying ice cream in a small store. Sara saw young children at a distance glancing at them but quickly ducking heads when caught looking at visitors.

Grissom explained. "They are friendly, but very hesitant to talk to strangers, which is probably a good idea for children. The adults can seem rude, but they have reasons to want to avoid tourists—most of us have not been exactly kind to the American Indian in the past."

After showing reservation papers, they found a very clean, basic room with two beds for their two night stay in the lodge. Packs were dropped on the floor as Sara headed to the shower to wash a day's worth of dust from her skin and hair.

Grissom's voice stopped her. "Swim—this afternoon. Change your clothes. We have another mile to go!" He pitched her backpack in her direction. "Trust me." His head turned to one side, his eyebrow arched. "Trust me—you won't regret it."

She changed into a basic one-piece suit, pulled on shorts and a shirt before washing her face. "I'm ready."

Grissom asked about shoes and she brought out a pair of water sandals, holding them up for his approval. He wore a similar pair on his feet. He had dumped one small backpack's contents onto the bed and cramped towels and snack food back into it. "Let's go. You're going to love this."

They heard water before they saw it, a rushing, falling over rocks sound; they smelled fresh water before they rounded a curve in the path and saw waterfalls at eye level. Grissom stopped to watch as Sara made a sound as her mouth dropped open.

"It's an oasis." She finally said. "Like in a movie."

From where they stood, they could see a tall white waterfall cascading into a carved pool below with dozens of smaller pools and water falls spilling out of the larger one. The bright turquoise water blew gentle mists in their direction. In contrast to the arid landscape above them, this place was filled with all things green. Twenty or so people were jumping from ledges into the bigger, deeper water or running from the sloping rocks into the clear water or simply playing.

The way down to the water was by rough steps carved in red stone, holding a chain with one hand and balancing as best as one could while viewing an almost unbelievable sight below. Grissom descended first but by the time his feet touched the bottom, Sara was pulling off her shirt and heading to the water's edge. As others had done, Grissom made a pile of clothing and shoes away from the water.

He watched as Sara approached the water, appreciating the way she looked, long legs, bare feet, arms swinging as she motioned for him to come to her. The look on her face was priceless.

"Worth the walk?" He asked.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 3**

She nodded. "How is this here? It's in a desert!" She was already in waist deep water, smiling as one would imagine a mermaid in the south Pacific. "This is so cool!" She flipped back and in seconds floated on her back.

A kid kicked by on a bright yellow floating ring. He looked at Grissom and then at Sara. "Can you swim, mister?" The kid asked. And for an answer, Grissom pushed off the bottom, diving into water and resurfacing away from the kid and on the far side of Sara.

The area was a natural water park. Swift current moved swimmers around the pool or into quiet sheltered coves filled with mist. It took half an hour for Sara to decide she wanted to dive from a high ledge. Grissom followed her up the smooth path with others.

"Feet first" announced signs and most divers followed this advice; a few reckless ones dived head first and came up laughing from the bottom. As Grissom hit the water, he tried to remember how long it had been since his first trip to this place—never with a woman, never even considered asking anyone to come with him.

By the time he surfaced, Sara was backing up for a running leap into air where she seemed to float for minutes before dropping feet first into the blue green pool making a smooth circle of rippled water. Attracted like a magnet, she surfaced in front of him, laughing, wiping water from her face.

"This is so totally awesome!" She said as she wrapped legs around his waist. "I love it!" She brought lips to his and hands around his neck with such force he almost toppled backwards.

He pulled her out of the water. "Having fun?" He asked.

"Yes. It is so beautiful. How did you ever find it? I mean, an eight mile walk from a gravel parking lot—don't tell me your travel agent told you to come here."

Sara climbed the rock to dive again. She played with kids who were tossing and retrieving a rock. Grissom knew she was a water nymph as he watched her glide like a gentle wave across the water.

They lay on the rock and let the sun dry their skin and clothes. "Tomorrow, we'll walk further up to the other falls," Grissom explained.

"More—as beautiful as these?" Sara found it unbelievable that a prettier place could exist in this same gorge.

"Two more--even more beautiful and higher falls. This one is the easiest for getting to the water."

They climbed the cliff, again hanging on to a rusty chain and fitting feet into carved rock steps, joining other tourists as the sun began to disappear.

In their room, before Sara adjusted water temperature and flow in the shower, Grissom was behind her and stepping inside the tub.

"The blinds are closed, the door is locked, and I've walked miles to get you here." He said as his arms came around her.

Hours of sun, an eight mile walk carrying what they needed for three days, an unadorned motel room, a few hours in clear, cool water had not diminished their desire. Even as hot water washed away the long day's excitement and exhaustion, passion sparked within each and met in an embrace.

Sara was playful and teasing as steam filled the small room. "Why did you bring me here, Gil Grissom?" Her arms wrapped around his neck. He was smiling as they stepped from the tub.

In a tangle of sheets with dogs barking in the distance, and a very faint smell of fresh water in the air, she said his name, not once, but over and over each time she placed lips against his skin. Afterwards, they slept until the sound of a helicopter woke them simultaneously.

"What on earth?" Sara was sitting upright before her eyes were open.

Grissom's response was to pull a pillow over his head. "I forgot to warn you. Some visitors get here in helicopters for a few hours. And helicopters are used to deliver some supplies." He was out of bed, dragging clothing from his backpack. "Let's go eat. We have two choices—the café or the café!"

They chose the café—the one serving basic food of grilled and fried foods instead of the other serving much the same; both places filled with customers before complete darkness claimed the area. The owner, a local, found Grissom in the over-filled room. It was obvious they knew each other from some previous trip; the man excitedly invited the two to his home the next day.

"Breakfast, come to breakfast. We make it special." The man's insistence resulted in a promise.

When he left their table, Sara wanted to hear the story. "How do you know him? How does he know you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 4**

As they returned to their room, Grissom related a story of a young man in Las Vegas. "Typical hooker roll" left him broke without so much as bus ticket money and when he attempted to shoplift cheap food, Grissom was in the same store. And he offered to pay for the boy's food, offered to give him a ride to a safe location, hearing about his home village, and driving the boy to the parking lot that night.

"That kid—Don—grew up to be the man in the café. I came back, walked in, and spent three days with his family. When he got married, I came back—the only outsider invited to the wedding."

Sara thought about what he had told her, then asked, "You gave me a choice of places to eat. What if I had chosen the other place? Would you have met him this visit?"

Grissom pulled her close. "Sure. His mother runs the other café! He cooks for both places. I sent word I was coming." He had an arm around her waist. "He knew I was bringing a lady friend, too."

In their room, both realized hours of driving, hiking and swimming had exhausted them beyond words. Grissom stretched across the bed before Sara finished brushing her teeth and was asleep before she pulled a paperback book from her bag. He woke up when she removed his shoes, pulling her into bed and tickling her neck with his unshaven chin.

"Lose the book, beautiful woman." She threw the book onto the spare bed.

In the quiet darkness of this hidden oasis in a desert, two exhausted lovers found deep sleep in an austere room. For two people who lived alone, who had never shared a bed with another, one responded to the other in sleep as they did when awake. A turn of one, led to a move by the other and if seen from above, two bodies would appear as one, pieces of a puzzle fit so tightly together that only the keenest viewer would find it possible to separate one into two forms.

Grissom's fatigue kept him sleeping when Sara woke early in the morning. She watched him sleep. He was a good person, she thought. She knew he was passionate, smart, polite to the extreme, yet often ill at ease in crowds, with people he did not know. When he moved and mumbled a few words, she combed her fingers through his hair. He snuggled into his pillow and quieted. She slipped from the bed and found her book, dug a small flashlight out of her pack, and crawled into the empty bed.

Sara had read for an hour, her head underneath covers with the book and flashlight, when she heard his voice.

"Sara, come back to bed," Grissom said, his voice husky with sleep. "Why are you over there, honey?"

"I woke up; didn't want to wake you, you were sleeping so soundly." She crawled back into bed with him. "The sun is coming up."

His hands found her. "Yeah, and I'm rested." Sara giggled, a quiet sound waking up senses of touch and smell and taste as he began kissing her neck, bringing his nose against her hair, his tongue to her mouth. He knew where to touch, to find those secret places that caused a quick intake of air, to move her closer to him and create a passionate response that caused him to lose his balance, to tumble into a welcoming chasm of liquid warmth.

Nothing before her accidental meeting months before had prepared Sara for the experience of making love to Gil Grissom. His attention to her desires was unexpected; she still remembered the first time in a small room next to the ocean, learning the difference in a man's ability to entice physical emotions of making love and that of a boy's quick act of fervor, learning that the act was longer than a song on the radio, learning she had the ability to find passion that filled her life with something new.

All the feelings, emotions, excitement of what they did had almost overwhelmed each. They understood physical desire; neither could verbalize what was happening. Several times Grissom had tried to say words; Sara had never attempted.

Sara pulled the sheet around them in a white cocoon. She had grown to enjoy the close physical contact while they were in bed, touching and holding each other in a private world of their own making.

It was Grissom who, as usual, brought up their long distance relationship. "Move to Las Vegas, Sara. We could do this more often."

"I don't know if I can, Gil." She sighed, a sad sound to him as he kissed her hair.

"You can. Jim Brass would love you. We have a great lab; lots of money being spent on improvements and upgrades. We could be together every day."

Sara sighed again. Her head lay against his shoulder and he felt her hand swipe across her face. He closed a hand around hers. He knew there were times when her well hidden emotions surfaced. He saw it when her chin trembled or her words faltered, when her eyes dropped or when she put her hand against her eyes.

"Don't cry, Sara. I don't want you to be sad."

He heard a quiet sniff and her fingers remained at her eyes. She quietly spoke, "I don't think I'm sad. I—I have never known anyone like you." She took a deep breath. He waited for her to continue. "It's hard for me—I've never been close to anyone—not like this."

"It's okay." He whispered. He used his thumb to wipe a drop of moisture from her eye. Two of us, he thought, neither with the ability to say words; he knew words were overrated. "Let's go to breakfast. Don's family is waiting."


	5. Chapter 5

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 5**

By the time they were dressed, two young boys were waiting—sons of the man from the café. Their shyness evaporated when Grissom shook their hands, called them by name, and handed each boy some type of badge. Sara dropped behind the three as the boys chattered about events of their world. Before reaching the house, the younger boy slowed, reached back and took Sara's hand, giving her a toothless smile.

Breakfast followed introductions—Grissom making the first one of wife, her mother, and an aunt. Don introduced each child—there were five. Everyone sat around the table taking up most of the crowded space in the small house. Sara spooned food on her plate, eggs and tortillas, creamy soft cheese and beans, chopped tomatoes. She could not talk—voices were constantly asking if she wanted more. A quiet little girl offered her a bowl of brightly colored cereal from a box she held. All Sara could do was respond with a shake or nod, yes or no, a thank you. She was the new attraction in this household.

Grissom and Don carried on their own conversation, about tourists, of seasonal flooding, of life in the community.

Don heard raised voices before anyone, opening the door before the sounds alerted others. In an instant, all was quiet as desperate cries were met on the porch. Grissom was close behind him.

Sara heard "lost child" and quickly joined the two on the porch, taking time to express thanks to the women who had suddenly become serious and quiet. The wife gathered a jacket, a small pack, and a water bottle for her husband. This was not the first search for this community.

The frantic camper relayed efforts of others to find the child before coming into the village. Grissom and Sara returned to the campground with the woman, stopping in their room for a few items.

At the campground, hysteria and mayhem had taken over. The crying mother tried to answer questions from a dozen others rarely finishing one answer before another question was asked. Sara looked at Grissom as he stood at the edge of the crowd.

"We need to organize. The locals know what to do, but we can do a few things."

With his statement, he stepped into the crowd, calling for quiet. His voice stopped the clamor and questions. Grissom knew the local men would arrive on horses and with tracking dogs. Several people arrived from the falls, shaking heads when everyone looked in their direction.

"Take the mother near their tent," Grissom whispered to Sara. "Get something for the scent dogs."

Sara moved the woman away from the group. One man reported on their search near the water—finding nothing. By the time he finished, the first of the local men had arrived on horseback with two small dogs. Grissom left the group and found Sara talking to the parents. She had a folded red shirt.

"The girl wore this yesterday. She's wearing green pajamas. Her flip flops are missing."

Without saying a word, Grissom took the shirt to the searchers. Sara continued talking to the parents, calmly asking questions. The tent flap was open when they woke. Thinking the child had gone to the campground bathroom, they were not alarmed—their daughter had been camping from an early age. Thirty minutes passed before the mother went in search of the child.

Searchers were given metal whistles, a description of the child, and a detailed trail map along with cautions to call others if they found or heard anything. The scent dogs picked up a trail from tent to the campground bathroom, and then followed a trail to the river where a shallow, fast flowing current stopped the dogs. Foliage was thick tangled brush to the water's edge.

Sara and Grissom watched from the campground as people spread out. "How long has she been missing?" He asked.

"At least two hours, counting the thirty minutes before the parents realized she was missing. Probably longer." Sara turned away from the river.

"They will find her." Grissom said. "Let's see what else we might do." He watched a few minutes as horses and riders entered the water and started downstream. Searchers on foot waded upstream while others fanned out along trails, all calling the girl's name.

Grissom knelt in front of the mother. He asked questions about her daughter—had she played with any children, was anything missing, could Sara look in their tent. The woman could barely answer his questions, but after someone handed a cup of coffee to her, she became more coherent, giving a nod to Sara.

Inside the tent, Sara found a jumble of bedding and clothes. While carefully lifting clothing, opening backpacks, she immediately smelled a body order—urine—and when she moved a small sleeping bag, she found wet green pajamas bottoms. She called out to Grissom who appeared at the entrance to the tent.

"She wet her pajamas." Sara gathered up little girl's clothing and took them to the mother. "Can you tell us what's missing? I found her pajama bottoms in the sleeping bag."

The mother picked up each piece, finally saying, "Her jeans—they are not here."

Grissom left before she finished, heading toward a woman holding a radio, reporting the change in clothing the missing child was wearing. The woman had heard from a group searching along the river, a flip flop sandal had been found downstream. Someone was bringing it back to the campground.

The dogs had lost the scent at the river and were returning to the campsite trying again to pick up a trail. Once again, they ran in circles at the edge of the water before being urged to cross. Sara watched as the dogs jumped from rock to rock to reach the other side.

"That's what she did, Grissom. Look at the dogs." The small dogs jumped from one rock to another in a zigzag path, hesitating a few seconds before they moved to another rock. "For some reason, she crossed the river." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, one dog found the scent and ran into lush green vegetation.

For the first time, Sara had hope the child would be found. She turned back to the mother sitting with several others at a picnic table, the look of complete despair on her face, hysteria replaced by anguish.

This time, Sara knelt beside her. "The dogs have picked up a scent across the river. They are smart little dogs; if she's there, they can find her."

The woman's tear filled eyes met Sara's. "She's a smart girl. I've tried to think why she would leave—she knows better."

Sara gently covered the woman's hand. "She's a little girl having fun. Does she like animals? Would she have followed one? I'm sure she didn't think she about getting lost."

The mother began to talk about her daughter, how much she enjoyed camping, hiking into the canyon and playing in the water—never a thought of harm or danger.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 6**

In the distance, Sara heard a whistle, several short bursts followed by a long one. It was a code, Sara was certain. She looked at Grissom who was listening to the radio. He made eye contact and gave a slight nod followed by a slow grin.

The girl had been found. Alive, unharmed. Following a ringtail cat she saw when she left the bathroom. She had gone to sleep until the scent dogs found her. Sara heard a collective breath released by adults and as quickly as a search had begun, people were back doing what they wanted to do. Campers and hikers disappeared; local men and women returned to homes, fields, and loading pack animals.

Smiles were on faces of people they met on the trail. It was a beautiful place—more like Hawaii, Sara said. She had never been to Hawaii but imagined it looked like this verdant green and blue paradise. They circled one of the high falls, higher than Niagara Falls, Grissom said. He pointed to warning signs and narrow trails going to the bottom of one waterfall.

"I'm game if you are," he said.

The route was one of narrow caves and slippery ladders, wet rocks, rusted chains for handholds going almost straight down a two hundred foot sandstone cliff.

"It's an obstacle course," Sara called down as she maneuvered one of the ladders. "Is there an elevator up?" She heard Grissom laugh from below.

They spent hours exploring small dead-end caves and false trails that went deeper into the canyon, never venturing far away from the water. They ate their trail food, found a sunny place to rest and began the climb back to the lodge.

"It's easier going down," Sara yelled back to Grissom. She was in the lead only because he insisted she go first. By the time she crawled to the trail, her energy spent, she stretched out, exhausted from the climb. Grissom joined her, laughing and providing a hand, his obvious enjoyment evident.

"How often do you get out here?" She asked.

"Not enough. Once a year, if I'm lucky." He passed her a water bottle. "I've never brought anyone with me."

"Thanks."

They followed the trail along the unseen river back to the campground where everything looked normal. The tent of the missing girl looked much the same, her red shirt on top of the picnic table.

"Amazing, isn't it." Grissom said as he head-pointed in the direction of the tent. "How quickly everything falls back into calm living."

"They were lucky," Sara said. "It could have been a kidnapping—it could have been a death by accident or stranger or a parent."

Grissom glanced at her. "People intent on doing harm rarely possess the ability to come to a place like this. But this day was a good one—for everyone."

It was good until they got to the lodge and saw three men waiting; one raised his arm at their approach.

"We were ready to go searching for you, Mr. Grissom." The man speaking wore a uniform of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Sara recognized the other two men from the early morning search party.

The three introduced themselves, already knowing who Grissom was and where he worked. They also knew Sara worked for law enforcement. She thought they might know more than they said.

"The little girl has been abandoned—she's in the tribal clinic." The officer said. "A couple of hours ago, one of the campers brought her to the clinic saying the girl was wandering around the campground, confused, couldn't find her parents."

The group found a table in front of the lodge and the three men pieced together the events leading up to locating Grissom. But it was Sara they wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 7**

"We need to get her to Flagstaff. We think the parents—if they are her parents—took off shortly after she was found this morning. Their car left the parking lot around noon. Evidently, the child was given something to make her sleep, giving them time to get away. It made no sense. No one was going to question them again."

Another man took up the story. "Our nurse is a good one. She worked up a physical on the girl, took photographs of some—bruises on her—in places children shouldn't have bruises—you know what I mean?" When Grissom and Sara remained quiet, he continued. "We called the county attorney and child protective services, deciding we could get her out of here on a helicopter."

The Bureau of Indian Affairs officer said, "That's where we need you, Miss Sidle. We need an officer to ride with the girl, take the photographs and other evidence out. We—we don't think it should be a man—you know what I mean?" He checked his watch. "The last helicopter leaves in an hour almost filled with tourists, but they can squeeze you in. If you can do this?"

Sara nodded. "How do we get to Flagstaff?" She knew the city was south of where they were. On the map, it looked like it was miles away.

"The helicopter pilot drops the tourists at the parking lot, then he flies down to Flagstaff every day. So he'll take you and the girl. Tomorrow, he'll fly you back in with the first group of tourists."

"Okay." She stood and entered their room, emerging a few minutes later her face washed and hair combed wearing a fresh shirt and carrying the small backpack. She was quiet as she approached Grissom. "I'll be back tomorrow." She grinned. "Don't leave without me."

Grissom watched as Sara met the little girl, offering a hand, asking if she had ever flown in a helicopter. Within minutes, the child saw this as an adventure. He heard a question about parents and Sara's response included a shake of her head.

They were the last to climb aboard the helicopter and only the pilot knew they were not the usual tourists. Grissom wanted to do more than touch Sara's shoulder before the door closed. He had seen the distress in her eyes.

His last words were, "I'll be here." As the helicopter lifted off, he watched as it rose above the red rock cliffs, turned and headed to the parking lot eight miles away. The trip took minutes but she was gone until the next day. He turned and headed to the café.

XXXX

Grissom ate dinner alone in the same café. Don, the owner, came by several times to talk quickly, to bring more food, and to express concern about the lost child, happy she had been found, but perplexed about how parents could leave a child.

The sun had gone down when Grissom returned to his room. It was lonely without Sara and her belongings, he decided. He missed her laugh—the giggle he loved, he missed her smell, her touch, and her youth and enthusiasm. Not for the first time, her absence caused him to worry, to agonize about the difference in age, about his own father's early death, his mother's health, his fear of commitment. Yet, in her presence, he rarely thought of any of these things.

When he slept, he did so in a restless, dreaming attempt. In the early morning darkness, he woke, walked to the helicopter landing and returned, waking at least four dogs in his path. He slept again falling into an exhausted sleep and waking only when he heard the shake of the door knob as someone turned the handle and then heard a key turn the lock. His first thought was of the maid coming in to early—until he heard her voice.

"Grissom?"

He was fully awake. "Sara?"

She was in bed with him, smelling faintly of soap and a scent of some flower. Tasting of chocolate and caramel from the cup she placed beside the bed. "Did you miss me?" She asked before her lips were on his.

His doubts and apprehension and fears of the night evaporated. She was back much earlier than he expected, pulling his shirt over his head, laughing as she struggled to unbutton her own shirt and take off her boots. In minutes, she was underneath him, and he knew he had an idiotic grin on his face.

"Know this, Sara. There will never be a time when I sleep without you that you are not missed—totally, absolutely, without doubt, the last thought I have before sleep is of you, the last word I form in my brain is Sara. No matter where we go with this…"

She stopped his words with her kiss. A deep, passionate, exploring one that met his own desire. When she broke away from him, she whispered, "I need no words, Gil. I have you."

Grissom felt her legs wrap around his; he held her head between his hands. He was determined to say the words both had avoided for months. "You are the woman I love."

All air seemed to have evaporated from the room. Time stopped. Sara's eyes opened to an impossible size and her mouth made an oval as her breath seem to completely leave her lungs.


	8. Chapter 8

_Here's a second one for today! It's Saturday, cold wind blowing here, football on television--so here's another one--get a cold drink and enjoy!!_

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 8**

"Me? You—you love me?" It was not disbelief but astonishment in her voice.

"Have I ever said anything I did not mean?"

She was too stunned to say anything that resembled a coherent response. She touched fingertips to his jaw and moved her hands around his neck moving one hand into his hair. As he pulled her against his body, she kissed him with an urgency that made him groan, a low, husky sound from deep within his chest. She could feel him pressed against her thigh, rigid with desire.

One of his hands moved from her back to hip and dipped lower, finding evidence of her own desire, damp and aching for him. She kissed his neck, moving slowly along his chest until she found his nipple. He sucked in his breath and his fingers clenched her hair.

"Wait," he whispered. He stroked her and watched her face. She smiled and, as he continued, her body tightened at his touch. When she thought she could no long wait for him, her back arched against his hand, he swiftly moved hands to her hips and plunged deep inside her.

She knew she gasped; she heard him do the same as a soft cry came from her own mouth as waves of pleasure rippled through her body. She belonged to him. At this moment she knew, she would know this if she were never with him again. There would never be another man who held this power over her; she would do what he asked, wanted or demanded—but he would not have to ask of her. She knew his will, she knew his mind, she knew his passion. In a brief moment, she was frightened beyond words, afraid of what this power could do to her. It passed and she held him until he slept against her.

Grissom had promised himself to say words to Sara to show her what she meant to him. He could talk to her for hours or they could sit or walk without saying anything. He had found a companion, a lover, one who understood him, made no demands, who was loving in ways that men searched years to find. Yet, he found it difficult to tell her how he felt. With her sudden absence, he became obsessed with telling her—as soon as she returned. With his decision, he had been able to sleep. And she appeared, opening the door to their room, coming to him with needs that met his own.

He watched her as excitement and passion mounted and heard her cry as they had tumbled into a sparkling whirlpool. He knew why she loved the water. It was the rushing feeling of passion, the rising and swirling of waves, and the crash of opposing forces of water against the shore. He was lost. How could he ever live without this woman? He closed his eyes and slept with his head against her chest, his arms wrapped heavily around her, and, before passing into the realm of sweet dreams, he felt her lips against his hair.

They woke much later when the lodge maid knocked on their door. She delivered a message; they could enjoy the day and catch a ride on the last helicopter out today—the local council wanted to thank Sara for going with the little girl and offered an invitation to lunch. They would not have to hike out of the canyon.

Grissom fell back in bed. "I think I might stay here until noon."

Sara nudged him with an elbow. "I want to swim one more time. So I remember the fun part."

"Bed with me isn't the fun part?" He asked. He heard a whisper of a sigh. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She was unsure what "it" meant—what he said to her in bed, the overnight trip to Flagstaff, the little girl taken into foster care for strangers to decide her fate, or whatever physical actions had occurred with this child to cause two adults to abandon her in a remote canyon.

She said, "I'm fine." She gave a smile, almost the same confidant smile she always presented as a public face. "I'm fine, I really am."

Grissom knew better but let it go. "Breakfast, then back to the old swimming hole. I want to see you dive again."

Sara dived, again and again. Grissom realized she was trying to work out her frustrations with the physical act of climbing to the ledge and taking a running leap into the air. She came out of the water with a smile on her face. And ten minutes later, she did it again. He had never seen the daredevil side of her, the relentless drive as she tried to forget whatever had happened overnight, or perhaps, it was to forget some event in her own young life.

Oh, god, he thought. Of course, that was it. She had delivered a child into the same system she had been in—another state, but it made no difference. A child had lost her parents without as much as a goodbye. Terrible, probably abusive parents, but parents, all the same. To be left alone, no history, no future, nothing to bind a child to family. He cursed again. And they still had lunch with the tribal council—to thank her for her help.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: One more chapter to finish this short story--leave us a comment or review! We have 2 or 3 more in our outline, but we may combine 2 of the stories. Thanks for reading!_

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 9**

She pulled it off. She dressed in the cleanest pair of jeans she had, wore the same shirt she had taken off that morning, with another shirt underneath, brushed her hair back, and smiled.

"You look beautiful." She smelled of fresh air and water. Her cheeks and nose were blushed from the sun.

The group from the village was just as impressed with Sara Sidle as he had been for months. She was confident, poised, gracious, hiding that broad smile with a professional demeanor that surprised him. One of the women gave Sara a small box containing a flat turquoise stone.

"To remember our tribe and our waters." The woman said.

By the time lunch was eaten, everyone talked to everyone else, saying little about the child and the events of the day before, Sara and Grissom had just enough time to stuff backpacks and crawl into the last helicopter with other tourists. The ride was minutes instead of several hours it would take to walk out of the canyon. Both remembered the easy downhill track; climbing out would mean an extreme upward trek.

They found the rental car exactly as they had left it, covered with more dust, but otherwise untouched. Grissom talked to two law officers before getting into the car.

"There are two motels ahead. Do you want to spend the night or drive into Las Vegas?" He asked taking her hand and pulling it to his chest. "Four or five hours into Vegas at this time of day."

"Drive. I'll talk."

If he had turned on a radio, he would not have heard more words. Sara talked about American Indians, surprised at how much he knew about the southwest tribes; she talked about the environment, about the oceans and forests and politics. He laughed and listened. Once she said she often "over talked", a new term to him until she explained it.

"We need a code word. One to let me know when I'm talking too much."

"We'll come up with one. Right now, keep talking."

Traffic slowed to a crawl at Hoover Dam. In the late twilight, she gawked as a tourist but did not want to stop. "I'll come back."

By the time Las Vegas came into view, it spread out before them with twinkling lights from horizon to horizon. The Strip was obvious as the brightest, highest lights of the city. Grissom avoided that area, stopping once for food, before turning into his driveway.

"We can return the car tomorrow." Grissom said. "For now, let's eat."

He wanted her to talk. Not about the dozens of topics she had covered in the drive from the parking lot. He needed to ask her, get her to talk.

She showered; he said he would fix their dinner. But when she stepped out of his shower, he was there, holding a pink shopping bag in one hand, a snow white towel in the other. "I got this weeks ago."

She took the offered towel and wrapped it around her body. "What's in it?" Her hand went into the bag and felt something soft and silky. A bathrobe, no, she thought, more expensive, more dressing gown than bathrobe. She owned nothing like this one.

"Keep looking."

At the bottom of the bag, were several other small items. She knew she blushed. "Did you buy these?" Lacy, silk, barely there panties in black and pink and red from one of those expensive designer named stores where she would never shop. She stepped into the black ones. "Turn your back." He turned around. She slipped into the robe and tied the sash. "Turn around."

He turned and a smile appeared on his face. "Better than I imagined," he said as he kissed her. He was always puzzled that she could step out of a shower smelling the way she did, her damp hair curling around her face as she bent to put lotion on her legs in one continuous motion. She fascinated him, simply, completely. He could watch her all day.

"Dinner," he motioned toward the kitchen.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Last chapter of this story! Enjoy! Leave a review if you haven't done so, let us know who is reading! Thanks!_

**A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 10**

Later, they lay across his bed. The robe was off, somewhere on the floor or lost in the bed along with his clothes. He had wrapped the sheet around both of them capturing her hands against his chest. He had finally asked about her trip to Flagstaff.

"The little girl didn't know. She looked at it as an adventure, thinking her mother would be there waiting for her. Before we landed, she was waving saying she knew her mom would be there watching." Sara sighed, remaining quiet for a few minutes before she continued. "A social worker was there—an older woman, how many of those women have I met in my life? Only when they started to leave did Katy realize something wasn't right."

Grissom remained quiet, keeping her hands within his as she talked.

"She turned back to look at us—a detective was there and the pilot—and tears were streaming down her face. But she wasn't making any noise, just crying silent tears."

Sara's own tears had formed and spilled from the corners of her eyes.

He gently wiped her face. "Any time kids are involved…" his voice trailed off. He knew whatever he said would be meaningless to her right now. Instead of words, he pulled her close. "Sweet Sara, you are too kind hearted for this business we are in."

Her voice was muffled against his shoulder when she said, "We are supposed to be, Gil. We are the victim's last voice. How can we do the right thing if we don't care?"

She was correct. He did care; he was better at concealing his concerns, his emotions. Only rarely would anyone see the rage he felt when a child was a victim of a senseless crime.

"Can you sleep?" He asked. She had curled against his shoulder in that place where she fit so perfectly.

She nodded. "I can always sleep with you."

XXXX

Sara woke to Grissom's voice in the next room. One-sided, phone conversation, she thought. She stretched out in the center of the bed—a man's room she thought, one that did not have a woman's touch. There were framed butterflies on one wall and one long painting above the bed. She rolled over to check the bedside table and grinned. He had one photograph—the two of them—sitting beside his phone charger and his wallet. When he walked into the room, he found her holding the photograph.

"You're awake!" He sat beside her and took the photograph. "From the first day we spent together." He said. "We laughed all day—I laughed all day. I think you were having fun teasing me!"

"I think I knew you were special that day."

He pulled her to him, lightly kissing her. "Get dressed while I fix breakfast. We have a place to go."

Grissom let her drive his vintage Mercedes, quite possibly the most expensive car Sara had ever driven—it's big engine purring like a contented cat as she followed him to return the rental car. The leather seat felt like soft butter and her foot wanted to press the accelerator just to hear its sound.

He got into the passenger seat saying "Drive, I'll direct."

When he told her to hit the pedal, she did so, the big car never hesitated as she glanced at the speedometer. He was grinning as he gave her a hand motion to keep accelerating as wind blew her hair away from her face. She was smiling as much as he was. She slowed only when he indicated an exit and several turns later, they drove into a golf club.

"Are you ready for a lesson?" He asked.

"Sure." It was easy to be agreeable in a classic car with the sun shining with a special person holding her hand.

"I called to get you an instructor—I don't want our first argument to be about golf!"

Grissom knew Sara would be a natural with a club. She quickly picked up on directions from the instructor and after an hour on the practice range, they walked the short course, both men giving advice, but Grissom always deferred to the teacher. The instructor appreciated the potential he saw in a new golfer. He also realized he had a pupil with the budding skills of a good player. And what she did not know, she was willing to learn.

"You're good, Sara." Grissom said as they ate on the patio. "A little practice, another lesson or two, and you might move out of my league."

She laughed. She wasn't sure how much she liked this game, but she would give it a try. This artificial green in the desert was a little weird to her; well, she thought, all of Las Vegas was a little weird.

That night, Sara made love to him. She would never say those words, not yet. With slow and deliberate fingers, she undressed him after dinner, starting in his living room, on his dark sofa. He had dimmed the lights earlier when an old movie was on his television but neither had watched much of it.

He let her move to face him, her knees against his hips. When her lips touched his neck below his earlobe, he groaned. The silk robe and the feel of her breast against his chest, her mouth, what she was doing with her hands caused an impulsive sound to jump from his throat.

She pressed him against the sofa as she moved her lips to his.

"The bed."

He heard her soft giggle as she released him.

In his bed, one he had never shared with another person, she continued with erotic play, teasing with her lips and teeth, light touches with her fingertips, her hair tracing the path of her warm breath against his skin. He responded with his own touches, but once she said "Not yet", he gave her control. When he thought he would explode if she touched him again, she whispered "now" and her lips came to his.

XXXX

It was becoming more difficult to watch her leave. He walked to the gate holding her bag and she waited until the last call to board the plane. Then she turned at the door and waved, smiling as she hitched the backpack on her shoulder.

He had not told her the fate of the little girl's parents. An early morning call the day before had been from a national park officer reporting the parents had been found after hikers had found their car; both had been killed instantly when the car crashed into the rock face of a canyon. Nothing from the car provided evidence as to why they had abandoned the little girl. Sara did not have to know and, unless she asked, he would not tell her.

Grissom promised to visit.

Soon, she said.

He would call her when she landed; for that one purpose, he loved the little phone clipped to his belt.

He wanted Jim Brass to meet her, but when she was here, he wanted her to himself, not shared and paraded around as an unexpected indulgence. He would think of something; he always got his way—eventually.

_A/N: We will try to get the next one up in a few days; at least started before Thanksgivining! Thanks again._


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